"And how would we keep intervention from developing into a Galaxy-wide war?"
"Oh, but really, don't you see? It's plain as day. You wouldn't be aggressors. You would just be preventing civil war to keep the kyrt trade from disruption. I'd announce that I'd appealed to you for help. It would be worlds removed from aggression. The whole Galaxy would be on your side. Of course, if Trantor benefits from it afterward, why, that's nobody's business at all. Really!"
Abel put his gnarled fingers together and regarded them. "I can't believe you really mean to join forces with Trantor."
An intense look of hatred passed momentarily over Steen's weakly smiling face. He said, "Rather Trantor than Fife."
Abel said, "I don't like threatening force. Can't we wait and let matters develop a bit-"
"No, no," cried Steen. "Not a day. Really! If you're not firm now, right now, it will be too late. Once the deadline is past, he'll have gone too far to retreat without losing face. If you'll help me now, the people of Steen will back me, the other Great Squires will join me. If you wait even a day, Fife's propaganda mill will begin to grind. I'll be smeared as a renegade. Really! I! I! A renegade! He'll use all the anti-Trantor prejudice he can whip up and you know, meaning no offense, that's quite a bit."
"Suppose we ask him to allow us to interview the Spatioanalyst?"
"What good will that do? He'll play both ends. He'll tell us the Florinian idiot is a Spatio-analyst, but he'll tell you the Spatio-analyst is a Florinian idiot. You don't know the man. He's awful!"
Abel considered that. He hummed to himself, his forefinger keeping gentle time. Then he said, "We have the Townman, you know."
"What Townman?"
"The one who killed the patrollers and the Sarkite."
"Oh! Well, really! Do you suppose Fife will care about that if it's a question of taking all Sark?"
"I think so. You see, it isn't that we have the Townman. It's the circumstances of his capture. I think, Squire, that Fife will listen to me and listen very humbly, too."
For the first time in his acquaintance with Abel, Junz sensed a lessening of coolness in the old man's voice, a substitution for it of satisfaction, almost of triumph.
15. The Captive
IT WAS not very usual for the Lady Samia of Fife to feel frustrated. It was unprecedented, even inconceivable, that she had felt frustrated for hours now.
The commander of the spaceport was Captain Racety all over again. He was polite, almost obsequious, looked unhappy, expressed his regrets, denied the least willingness to contradict her, and stood like iron against her plainly stated wishes.
She was finally forced from stating her desires to demanding her rights as though she were a common Sarkite. She said, "I suppose that as a citizen I have the right to meet any incoming vessel if I wish." -
She was poisonous about it.
The commander cleared his throat and the expression of pain on his lined face grew, if anything, clearer and more definite. Finally he said, "As a matter of fact, my Lady, we have no wish at all to exclude you. It is only that we have received specific orders from the Squire, your father, to forbid your meeting the ship."
Samia said frozenly, "Are you ordering me to leave the port, then?"
"No, my Lady." The commauder was glad to compromise. "We were not ordered to exclude you from the port. If you wish to remain here you may do so. But, with all due respect, we will have to stop you from approaching closer to the pits."
He was gone and Samia sat in the futile luxury of her private ground-car, a hundred feet inside the outermost entrance of the port. They had been waiting and watching for her. They would probably keep on watching her. If she as much as rolled a wheel onward, she thought indignantly, they would probably cut her power-drive.
She gritted her teeth. It was unfair of her father to do this. It was all of a piece. They always treated her as though she understood nothing. Yet she had thought he understood.
He had risen from his seat to greet her, a thing he never did for anyone else now that Mother was dead. He had clasped her, squeezed her tightly, abandoned all his work for her. He had even sent his secretary out of the room because he knew she was repelled by the native's still, white countenance.
It was almost like the old days before Grandfather died when Father had not yet become Great Squire.
He said, "Mia, child, I've counted the hours. I never knew it was such a long way from Florina. When I heard that those natives had hidden on your ship, the one I had sent just to insure your safety, I was nearly wild."
"Daddy! There was nothing to worry about."
"Wasn't there? I almost sent out the entire fleet to take you off and bring you in with full military security."
They laughed together at the thought. Minutes passed before Samia could bring the conversation back to the subject that filled her.
She said casually, "What are you going to do with the stowaways, Dad?"
"Why do you want to know, Mia?"
"You don't think they've plans to assassinate you, or anything like that?"
Fife smiled. "You shouldn't think morbid thoughts."
"You don't think so, do you?" she insisted.
"Of course not."
"Good! Because I've talked to them, Dad, and I just don't believe they're anything more than poor harmless people. I don't care what Captain Racety says."
"They've broken a considerable number of laws for 'poor harmless people,' Mia."
"You can't treat them as common criminals, Dad." Her voice rose in alarm.
"How else?"
"The man isn't a native. He's from a planet called Earth and he's been psycho-probed and he's not responsible."
"Well then, dear, Depsec will realize that. Suppose you leave it to them."
"No, it's too important to just leave to them. They won't understand. Nobody understands. Except me!"
"Only you in the whole world, Mia?" he - asked indulgently, and put out a finger to stroke a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead.
Samia said with energy, "Only I! Only I! Everyone else is going to think he's crazy, but I'm sure he isn't. He says there is some great danger to Florina and to all the Galaxy. He's a Spatio-analyst and you know they specialize in cosmogony. He would knowr
"How do you know he's a Spatio-analyst, Mia?"
"He says so."
"And what are the details of the danger?"
"He doesn't know. He's been psycho-probed. Don't you see that that's the best evidence of all? He knew too much. Someone was interested in keeping it dark." Her voice instinctively fell and grew huskily confidential. She restrained an impulse to look over her shoulder. She said, "If his theories were false, don't you see, there wouldn't have been any need to psycho-probe him."
"Why didn't they kill him, if that's the case?" asked Fife and instantly regretted the question. There was no use in teasing the girl.
Samia thought awhile, fruitlessly, then said, "If you'll order Depsec to let me speak to him, I'll find out. He trusts me. I know he does. I'll get more out of him than Depsec can. Please tell Depsec to let me see him, Dad. It's very important."
Fife squeezed her clenched fists gently and smiled at her. "Not yet, Mia. Not yet. In a few hours we'll have the third person in our hands. After that, perhaps."
"The third person? The native who did all the killings?"
"Exactly. The ship carrying him will land in about an hour."
"And you won't do anything with the native girl and the Spatio-analyst till then?"
"Not a thing."
"Good! I'll meet the ship." She rose.
"Where are you going, Mia?"
"To the port, Father. I have a great deal to ask of this other native." She laughed. "I'll show you that your daughter can be quite a detective."